It wasn’t that she was against selling books—this was, after all, her chosen profession—it was that she felt a particular affinity with anything botanical, in particular botanical art, and she had collected some rather fabulous books on the subject, which she was loath to part with. She guessed that’s what you got for growing up in a family-run nursery business; her whole family was plant obsessed.

The woman placed the tome—a collection of the works of Rachel Ruysch—with due reverence on the desk, and Nory thawed slightly; perhaps she was the right owner for this book after all.

“Can you do anything on the price?” she asked.

Nory made a face like she was thinking about it. “It’s a very rare reproduction. I think it’s priced more than fairly.”

You did not, in Nory’s opinion, haggle where the Old Masters were concerned. The woman eyed her.

Andrew, with Matilda snuffling contentedly into his chest, leaned over and asked, “I wonder if this book could be the first in our ten percent discount Christmas offer?” in a terribly polite voice that only Nory knew actually meant Make the goddamned sale!

The woman’s eyes widened briefly, and she raised one eyebrow expectantly at Nory. Nory smiled.

“Of course, how silly of me to forget the Christmas discount! Let’s round it down to three hundred and twenty-five pounds exactly.”

“Wonderful!” exclaimed the woman. She began immediately to rummage around in her handbag, while Andrew whisked the book—which Nory had been wistfully stroking—out of Nory’s reach to wrap it.

Andrew handed the book, enveloped in thick brown parchment paper and secured with string, to Nory, and Nory held it out to the woman. The woman took it, but Nory held on. Suddenly she couldn’t seem to make her hands unclench. The woman tugged and Nory resisted. The woman smiled uncertainly and tugged again. Reluctantly Nory let go, and the woman hurried out of the shop, apparently fearing Nory might give chase. In fairness, if Ameerah hadn’t ambled in at that moment and flung herself into one of the old chesterfield armchairs in the reading corner, she might have.

Ameerah was wearing a black floor-length military coat, undone to reveal a tailored black skirt suit that nipped in at the waist and a brilliant white shirt with a ruffle down either side of the buttons. Her knee-high, stilettoed black boots squeaked as she crossed her legs elegantly and settled her gaze first on Nory and then Andrew.

“Hello, my darlings. Coffee’s on the way.” She smiled.